


Incoming Call

by Wisteria_Leigh



Series: Prompted Works [17]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Blow Jobs, College Student Adam Parrish, King Gansey: The Ultimate Cockblocker, M/M, Minor Henry Cheng/Richard Gansey III, Minor Richard Gansey III/Blue Sargent, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 00:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17991773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wisteria_Leigh/pseuds/Wisteria_Leigh
Summary: Adam sighs. “For the record, that is a terrible code for ‘I want to have sex’.”





	Incoming Call

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by an anon on tumblr from [ this list ](http://purrincesscatitude.tumblr.com/post/181823833695/prompt-list): 38: "I think I'm dying."
> 
> Guess I can't say I've never written anything sexually explicit anymore. First time for everything!

No one, in the entire history of the universe, has ever claimed that Ronan Lynch is good at flirting. Sure, he has his moments--hand cream here, well-timed latin phrase there--but overall? A solid D-average.

Example:

Adam just finished finals and his suitemates have all left for winter break. The library doesn’t switch hours until Sunday so he’s still on campus, filling in hours where they need extra hands. Ronan, who hated the idea of having to wait more days for Adam to get his ass back to Virginia and who liked the idea of annoying Parrish for a seven hour Shitbox car ride, flew up to New Haven to hang out with him.

Adam forgot to shave this morning after rushing out at 6am to open the library, and by mid-afternoon the bristle is bugging him, so he excuses himself while Ronan’s contentedly watching Food Network.

By the time Adam’s done, Ronan has appeared beside him. He’s standing far too close to be casual, drawing shapes in the water on the sink counter and very obviously avoiding eye contact.

“You want something?” Adam asks as he’s washing shaving cream from his hands.

“Just...wanted to say hello,” Ronan says.  

Adam quirks a brow. “In the bathroom. While you’re in the middle of a Chopped episode.”

“...yes.”

Adam sighs. “For the record, that is a terrible code for ‘I want to have sex’.”

Ronan blushes and shoves his hands into his pocket. “We don’t fucking have to if you don’t--”

Adam puts his hand on Ronan’s chest. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to. I’m just saying. If we ranked your come-ons from best to worst, this would be one of the worst.”

“Still got my point across, did it not?”

And Adam would argue, but Ronan’s kissing his palm, his wrist, up his arm, along his neck and jaw and then his mouth is on his and Adam’s being pushed towards the bed and he’s not so desperate to win this that he’s willing to stop the momentum Ronan’s building.

Adam’s shirt is off in seconds, and Ronan is making quick work of kissing every muscle south of his neck when his phone rings.

Ronan doesn’t deign to stop his exploration of Adam’s hipbone for something as stupid as a phone call. Adam, however, would rather not listen to the phone ring while Ronan sucks bruises into his skin, because he’s horrified of some weird pavlovian response coming of it.

Adam presses the screen. His phone is shit so the names of his contacts only display once out of every five calls, but he has this particular number memorized. “It’s Gansey,” he says, breath hitching slightly as Ronan scrapes his teeth along a sensitive strip of nerves.

“Don’t give a fuck,” Ronan grumbles.

Ronan’s fingers hook the waistband of Adam’s sweatpants, and Adam finds that he also, surprisingly, doesn’t give a fuck. He declines the call.

No matter how desperate Ronan is, he always finds great pleasure in undressing Adam slowly, kissing every inch of skin as it’s revealed. Which Adam finds…really fucking hot, if he’s honest. Dude may have the world’s worst pick-up lines, but once he gets Adam in bed, he’s like Shakespeare. Or Picasso. An artist, with hands and mouth as his tools and Adam’s body as his canvas. That’s...probably taking the metaphor too far. Adam really needs to learn how to stop thinking. Or, Ronan’s mouth just needs to get to the fucking point so he can be thoroughly distracted from weaving shitty, overwrought metaphors about how Ronan is an artist of sex...

Ronan’s lips have finally found their way to the inside of his thigh, and are moving higher and higher, and his fingers brush against the waistband of his boxer and he is, like, two moves away from fulfilling Adam’s wish--

And the phone rings.

Not Adam’s this time, but Ronan’s.

Ronan growls, deep and guttural. Adam reaches for the smooth glass surface and holds it at eye level. “Gansey,” Adam announces.

“Still don’t give a fuck,” Ronan says.

Adam sits up. “If he’s calling you, though.”

Ronan huffs. Adam presses talk. “Gans, what’s up?”

“Parrish?” And, really, why on earth does he sound so surprised; Ronan won't answer the 37th consecutive call let alone the first. “Adam. Something’s wrong with me.”

Ronan lifts his head from where it’s resting on Adam’s thigh. His brow furrows. “What’re you talking about?” Adam asks.

Gansey’s voice is raspy and distant. “I-I don’t know. I just. I feel very, very odd.”

Adam’s heart starts racing for a very different reason. He drags a blanket over himself. “You gotta be more specific, man,” Adam says, trying to swallow the panic rising before Gansey has had a chance to explain himself. Ronan climbs up and over Adam to listen.

“I’ve been studying for finals, you see. And I...well, I haven’t exactly been able to follow a normal sleep schedule, even for myself. And, well, I may have only gotten an hour or two, and now I feel...strange. Not my right self.”

“Only an hour or two last night?”

“No, only an hour or two since Wednesday.”

All the panic and worry that’s grown in his chest in the past thirty seconds turns to bitter ash. Adam pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s Friday afternoon, Gans.”

“Yes, I am aware of that. I can also tell you who the President is, and what year it is, but I don’t think those questions are helpful for diagnostics right now. I haven’t hit my head, at least not that I can remember. Although, now that I think about it, I can’t quite remember everything--”

“I-We don’t _need_ to diagnose you; you just diagnosed yourself. You’re sleep-deprived. You need to go to bed. That’s it.”

“Is that all? But I feel so--”

“Strange, yes, I know. I promise, you just need to sleep.”

“Huh.”

“You done, Dick?” Ronan snaps, taking the phone from Adam’s hand. “We’re kinda in the middle of something.”

“Oh! Oh yes. Yes, of course. Sorry.”

Ronan doesn’t say goodbye. He ends the call, tosses his phone into the pile of blankets and pillows beside them, and rips the topsheet off of Adam. Their lips crash together, mouths opening and tongues curling. Adam’s fingers scratch across his buzzed scalp.

“Where were we?” Ronan murmurs, and just like that Adam is back into the mood.

“A little bit more south, I reckon,” Adam says with a smirk.

“Good memory.” Ronan nips at his neck and takes his sweet-ass time getting back down to where they’d left off. And interruption be damned, Adam is still more than ready for whatever Ronan has in mind--

The phone rings again.

Lord help them, Adam is going to get hard-ons every time the damn phone rings if this keeps up.

“Do not,” Ronan demands, pinching Adam’s thigh.

“Gansey,” he says.

“So fucking leave it.”

Adam presses the button. “What, Gansey?”

“Parrish. I think I’m dying.”

“You are not dying. You need sleep.”

“No, Adam, listen. My chest hurts. I’m dizzy. I think I’m having a heart attack.”

“You’re not having a heart attack.”

“Are you sure? I feel like I can’t stand up. I’m nauseous.”

“Yes, because you haven’t slept in _48 hours_.”

“This has never happened to me before. What if it’s something worst?”

“It’s not. It’s sleep deprivation.”

“But _what if,_ Parrish?”

Adam groans. “Don’t you have a girlfriend you can complain to?”

“She didn’t take my ailment seriously,” Gansey sighs, like Blue spit on his entire existence. Adam rolls his eyes.

Ronan grabs the phone. “Why are you still talking to us?” he snaps. “Go to bed.”

“But--”

“Go. The fuck. To sleep, Dick.”

Ronan hangs up the phone, throws it into the discarded blankets, and forgoes his slow-and-steady approach to just pull Adam’s boxers down in one smooth motion. Ronan licks his lip and Adam’s heart is pounding, face flushing from sheer anticipation. And as Ronan’s mouth _finally_ gets to work, he gasps an elongated “fuck” that makes Ronan moan. He digs his nails into Ronan’s scalp while Ronan holds one of his hands.  

The phone rings for the third fucking time.

“God _fucking_ \--” Ronan snarls. He grabs the phone and slams the green button. “Listen, Dick. if you call one more time, I swear on my fucking grave I will tell your _very_ Republican mom about your make-out session with Henry Cheng last Halloween”

“Wait, _what?_ ” Adam exclaims.

“I know for fucking fact that Maggot has photographic evidence.”

“She _does?!”_

“Fine,” Gansey says, and it comes off about as regal as one might imagine a half-delirious, very sleep deprived king can be.

“Now go the fuck to sleep.” He ends the call and throws the phone across the room. It lands in Adam’s laundry hamper.

“Jesus Fucking Christ,” Ronan hisses.

“I can’t believe no one told me about this,” Adam says. “About Gansey and Cheng.”

“Yeah. It was one hell of a night.” But Ronan is clearly more interested in pleasuring Adam right now than he is in explaining Halloween 2017. Which is stupid, because, “how can you possibly just drop that bomb and go right back to putting your mouth on my dick?”

“Easily.”

“Gansey and Cheng _made out_ and _no one told me._ ”

“I told you you should’ve come to Harvard that weekend.”

“Were they drunk? Was there tongue? _Why was Blue taking pictures--”_

Ronan heaves himself back on top of Adam and pins his arms to the bed with a snarl. “No. No fucking way. Dick Gansey is _not_ going to fucking cock block me again.”

Adam raises a brow. “What if I demand to see the photos?”

“What if I don’t blow you in my car ever again?”

Adam considers this, which is genuinely concerning because Ronan happens to like blowing Adam in his car and if this asshole says he’s willing to sacrifice that because of _Dick Gansey--_

“You promise to tell me the story later?” Adam asks.

“God, yes, just let me fuck you already.”

Adam’s breath catches and his cheeks flush. “Deal.” And Ronan can’t kiss him hard enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the time my fiance was so sleep deprived after Vet School finals he thought he was dying. Spoiler Alert: he wasn't.


End file.
